


Dangerous Strangers

by jdmcool



Category: Sherlock (TV), Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-22
Updated: 2012-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-05 20:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdmcool/pseuds/jdmcool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It may seem strange, but Mycroft's goals weren't always so exceedingly lofty as to control the British Government. No, that was the byproduct of meeting a one, George Smiley and Peter Guillam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dangerous Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing with this. I just felt that Peter and Mycroft needed to be a thing. Pre-series Mycroft, post TTSS everyone else.

It should’ve been a disaster from the very start, Mycroft had always figured. That vaguely sentimental part of his mind that tried to believe what most people did, that every great romance of such a nature was meant to start off nicely or like a bad romcom wasn’t there because the event managed to predate that want to try to relate to the rest of the world more than he had to and Mycroft Holmes did not waste time converting old data to a new system. No, when he thought back on the situation, it was with a pessimistic view that may have been warranted instead of the happier one he tried to maintain.

Or, rather, it was with a man outside his class.

There was no secret to why he was at uni and what he intended to do with himself. Nearly twenty years old and studying everything necessary to one day find himself in the position of prime minister. Back then he thought it was a rather brilliant idea. But that was before he left his course, later than everyone else because he’d forgotten a book and ran into an amused looking man on his way out.

“You could do better than minister.”

It was an odd way to start a conversation, but Mycroft Holmes found himself stopping. In a world of girls with pretty smiles and evil ways, boys with ambitions and God complexes, each and every one of them being particularly boring, he couldn’t say that he wasn’t impressed by the old man with the gloves and fairly large glasses. Had to be in his seventies, and that was Mycroft being kind, and he was completely unreadable.

Smiling the man walked over to him. “You’re a smart boy. Far more perceptive than most.”

His glasses weren’t particularly thick, meaning the man still had a rather keen eyesight for his age. He was married, though perhaps not exactly happily so from the looks of the fairly even complexion of his ring finger. He was smart, amused with Mycroft’s efforts to sort him out and it was as he stared into those joyful eyes, Mycroft realized that his entire face had contorted into a look of confusion from the effort to piece him together.

“I was recruited from here. It’s about the promise we see in you. You’re better than most people. A trait you get from your parents, who are fairly astute, but nothing compared to you or even your little brother, Sherlock, who’s quite eager to see you over the upcoming holiday.”

“How do you know about me?”

The man smiled. “My name is George Smiley. I may have a job for you.”

“You know about my family, my ambitions, me. Why should I trust you?”

Smiley only chuckled and handed him a card. “Four tomorrow would be an excellent time.”

Looking over the card, Mycroft pocketed it and nodded. “I have studying to attend to, Mr. Smiley.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Mycroft.”

“You as well,” he found himself saying, mildly surprised by the fact that he meant it.

Honestly, it would’ve been impossible not to mean it. Walking away, Mycroft couldn’t help but look back at the man, who didn’t just disappear as easily as appeared. Instead he casually walked away, leaving Mycroft to figure out what it was, exactly, that he was getting himself into.

The type of people who could conceal everything about themselves were very often the type of people mot would avoid. Even the fact that the man knew about his family, a topic Mycroft rarely divulged anything of interest on was worrisome. But looking at the card again, a plain cardstock paper with the raised lettering, he knew he would go. He had to, honestly.

And that was how, the very next day, he found himself standing on a doorstep. Nervous was not a feeling he was used to and the moment he realized he was, he filed away the sensation for future inquiry before raising his hand and knocking like he always did. Three, firm, even spaced raps and then go back to standing patiently.

Opening the door, a blonde man stared at him. “May I help you?”

“Smiley sent me.”

Without so much as batting an eye, the man opened the door and let him. Mycroft smiled politely, like he was taught, as he entered the room. Taking in the right half of the room and making his assessments from that before doing the same for the left, Mycroft could practically feel the eyes on him, imply staring.

When he did meet the other man’s gaze, the blonde asked, “Would you like something to drink? Scotch? Water? Apple juice?”

“Scotch, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

Nodding the blonde made his way into the kitchen, created a small amount of noise as he got their drinks. Re-entering the room though, he handed Mycroft his drink. They both stood there in the doorway, sipping their drinks, casually taking the other in through it all.

“Smiley sent you?” the blonde asked.

“Yes. He said four would be a good time.”

“Who are you?”

“Mycroft Holmes,” he said, holding out a hand.

The blonde man gave a slight smile as he shook his hand, still no closer to actually trusting him, not that he didn’t understand that. Whatever game that dodgy old man had been up to, it certainly seemed to be one worth taking notes on in Mycroft’s book. If nothing else, it could be useful in the long run.

“Peter Guillam.”

“You have a very lovely home, sir,” he said, trying to keep up the idle chit chat.

Looking over it quickly, Peter shrugged. “It serves a purpose.”

“Small, private. Much like you, aside from the small part. Must’ve been quite in love, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

Peter tilted his head slightly, clearly intrigued by what passed as small talk in Mycroft’s book.

Certainly he knew not show off in the way Sherlock did. Letting his every thought pour from his lips with no regard given to the variables that tended to be people’s reactions. Finishing off his drink, he made his decision about Peter and let his mind drift back to the possibilities of  what Smiley was doing.

“The frame on the desk, it’s empty. I’m assuming a bad break up?”

“Thought there was someone else. There wasn’t. Just work.”

“Pity. What is it you do for the government?”

Peter smiled at him as he made his way over to a seat. Sitting down, he looked at Mycroft and gestured for him to do the same. “So you know Smiley?”

“No,” Mycroft aid, taking the seat next to him. “I’ve only met him the once outside my class.”

“You’re smart. Or, at least he thinks you are.”

Nodding slowly to himself, Mycroft said, “Was it a man or a woman?”

The look of confusion on Peter’s face wasn’t what Mycroft had been intending to get when he asked that question. Certainly not when he was used to looks of surprise. Something that helped him, as people tended to give themselves away more than enough for Mycroft to figuring out everything about them without so much as a second glance.

Peter, however was not one of those people. Putting down his glass, he kept up that look of confusion as he casually asked, “Man or woman what?”

“Who you broke up with.”

“Rather queer question. Or, are you giving me the options out of courtesy? Because I’m not some schoolboy. I don’t test myself with the nearest boy in an old ground keeping closet.”

“You looked at my groin upon my arrival before my face. You continue to look me over and I doubt ou’re getting anything of pertinent information. Well off family, serious demeanour, rather… overweight.”

“You’re thinner than you think, I’d bet. Used to be a large child? Probably got teased for it because you were larger and clever.”

Looking at him, Mycroft understood how another person might find the deduction methods he’d learned  over the years a bit annoying. Although that could’ve easily had to do with the fact that Peter wasn’t trying to figure him out. He was chatting in an effort to get information while still trying to get away from the original topic.

“The point is, there’s no reason to look me over so often unless you’re suspicious of me, and why would you be? You’re friend sent me here. I should be the concerned one.”

Peter nodded in agreement. “I’ll give you that.”

“And even if there was reason, you watch my mouth when I speak,” he said, unable to resist the urge smirk.

Conceding defeat to that point, he nodded. “I watch your mouth because I’ve never heard such things come out of anyone’s mouth before. You’re like a machine.”

“I assume that is a compliment?”

Peter only looked at him and nodded. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Mycroft smiled at that, keeping it as genuine as possible while noting the fact that he was being ignored again. Not that Mycroft believed himself to be wrong about anything he had figured out about the man. No, everything about Peter was apparent as the fact that the man enjoyed whatever sort of battle of wills they were having.

“Your friend told me my ambitions in life were too low,” he said with a small roll of his eyes.

After all, not many people were told that their goals were too low. Especially not when aiming toward something such as prime minister. How a powerful job could be a rather low ambition was beyond him, but then, so was anyway he could be more than that short of marrying into the royal family. Sure, there were other jobs that came with a different kind of control, but Mycroft was never quite certain those fit him best.

Peter listened to him intently, making himself a bit more casually as he rested an arm on the back of his sofa. “I hope you weren’t insulted.”

“Nothing of the sort. I’m just curious, why you?”

“Give you the once over? Get you to open up about something he’s interested in? Kill you?”

Mycroft laughed at that. “Right. Well, if that were the case, it’s probably a good sign that I’m still breathing.”

“Don’t worry. My powers of killing aren’t all that great,” Peter joked, showing off his hands as though that was supposed to make him seem less threatening.

Not that he seemed particularly scary, given the sweet smile on his face that seemed to light up his eyes. No, he was nothing short of average, but then Mycroft knew all about seeming to be something that he wasn’t. It brought up the question of just what kind of killing the other got up to, as he didn’t seem the hunting type.

“So, is there a name?”

Peter glanced over at the pictureless frame and sighed. “Does it matter?”

Glancing over at the picture frame himself, Mycroft shook his head. “No. I suppose not. Merely curious.”

“Dangerous thing, being curious. Especially with the wrong people.”

“I’ve learned to spot the right ones.” Resting his hands on his lap, fingers neatly intertwined, he looked off as he added, “ Besides, I understand heartbreak. I know I’ve fallen a bit too hard for the odd girl in my class, mistaken trysts in the groundkeeper’s closet for something more.”

Peter smiled as he leaned back. Chuckling softly under his breath, he drummed his fingers on the back of the sofa. “...The name doesn’t matter. It seems like ages ago, really. Either way... Would you like me to top you off? A smoke?”

“Yes. To both, if possible,” Mycroft said, finding it impossible not keep his focus on the frame. As Peter got up to get the scotch from the kitchen.

He didn’t know what exactly he was into, as far as Smiley’s part in all of this, but it didn’t matter. Not when Peter was giving him far better idle conversation than Mycroft was used to having with anyone that wasn’t his family, and even then, it was typically with Sherlock. Peter may not have been the most clever man around, but he definitely knew how to hold a conversation without giving away everything. A learned skill, perhaps, from the man who gave away almost nothing.

Coming back into the room, Peter poured them each another drink and sat back down. Placing the bottle down, he took out a pack of cigarettes and opened it, holding it out to Mycroft.

Taking one, Mycroft gave his thanks and placed it between his lips. Feeling around his pockets for a lighter, he was thankful when Peter held one up. Smiling around the cigarette, Mycroft stayed perfectly still when Peter leaned in and lit it for him before lighting up his own.

He didn’t actually care for smoking most of time. Only in the company of others to put them a bit more at ease. Frankly, the entire process seemed a bit jumpy to him. Something that people did out of a habit that they couldn’t control or to calm themselves. And given Peter’s age and behaviour, he knew it was neither of them.

Still, they smoked in relative silence, Mycroft burning through his as quickly as possible as he thought of his next move. He knew Peter was watching him, but the man sat there so quietly, he could’ve been little more than furniture, really. Putting out his smoke, he took a deep breath to clean his lungs before looking at that frame once again.

Licking his lips, he frowned before turning back toward Peter. “What did he look like?”

Taking another drag, Peter exhaled the smoke slowly before putting out his smoke in the ashtray. “Older. Your height, bit thinner than you,” he said before taking another sip of his drink.

Nodding obediently, Mycroft licked his lips again before leaning in and kissing the other man.

Peter, to his credit, barely even tensed. Instead, he kissed back with a certainty, hand coming up to rest against the back of Mycroft’s neck as he pulled him closer. Letting his mind relax, Mycroft stopped analyzing everything, instead choosing to catalogue it all for later as he wanted to go over it again.

He wanted to file away the feel of Peter’s fingers digging into his neck just hard enough to draw a moan from him. A calculated move judging by hint of whiskey still on Peter’s tongue as it invaded his mouth. Mycroft  didn’t care though. Resting a hand on Peter’s hip, he offered himself as best he could to the other man.

And Peter was only too happy to take. The fact that they knew nothing of each other didn’t matter, Smiley trusted them and they were only to happy to take that for some sort of value as he let Mycroft unbutton his waistcoat with slow, yet steady fingers. Nothing there to give the idea that this might all be because of the alcohol in the almost skilled way he pushed the material out of the way.

Feeling a hand pressing against his chest, he followed the silent command and moved back until his back was lying against the sofa cushion, Peter straddling his waist as he looked down on him. Even with the dilated pupils, Peter was still trying to piece him together. That was fine and didn’t stop the young man from trailing a long finger from Peter’s throat to his tie.

Grabbing the knot firmly, he smirked as Peter’s eyes narrowed at him. Brushing his thumb along the knot, he gently loosened it before pulling Peter closer to him again. Their noses brushed with how close they were, but neither made the obvious move. Instead, Mycroft turned his head and shuddered as Peter began to leave a trail of kisses down his jaw. Letting his eyes slip shut, his hand fell away from the tie in favour of blindly unbuttoning his shirt while Peter did his best to figure him out.

Those lips making their switch from gentle kissing to simply moving in unspoken words as he made his way down Mycroft’s neck until his mouth rested against the hollow of his neck, inspecting it with teeth and tongue until Mycroft’s fingers were left shakily undoing the last of his buttons.

“If you want, you’re perfectly free to go,” Peter said loud enough to be heard.

A joke, Mycroft thought since, as he took note of the careful and slow way Peter was rocking against his hip, obviously hard. Neither of them wanted to stop and Mycroft didn’t care for the man’s reasons of offering such a stupid and contradictory statement. His only concern was how soft Peter’s hair was under his fingers as he kissed the man hard.

That was clearly the final blow to any and all reservations. After taking off his newly undone shirt and tie, he made quick work with Mycroft’s clothes, managing to get him stripped and bear on the sofa in record speed, trousers and shirt casually tossed to the other side of the room while he moved from straddling the young man to kneeling between his legs.

And, even accommodating, Mycroft did his best to spread his legs wider due to the small area of the sofa and his own obvious and aching interest in the proceedings. Peter smiled at that as he placed a slick finger on the head of Mycroft’s erection, slowly moving down, following the patterns of veins as it twitched underneath his ministrations. Further and further down until the finger had trailed its way to his hole.

Eyes intently focused on his face, Peter gently pushed his finger in, making Mycroft breath hitch, though he didn’t look away once while the seemingly endless finger pushed into him only to pull out a bit faster. The process repeated itself as Mycroft gripped at the sofa against the singular onslaught. When another finger was added, pushing in deeper until they prostate,  he finally let his eyes fall shut, giving up on whatever mind game they playing at.

And from there nothing more matters except for Peter’s alternating rhythms as he works his fingers inside Mycroft, stretching and teasing; only adding a third finger to the mix once he has the young man rutting back against his perfectly still hand, panting for it. It’s the easiest part for Mycroft, who’s complete unashamed of what it is his body wants until the fingers are gone and, God help him, he’s whimpering as he presses his arse toward Peter.

The blonde looks him over once again as he takes off his own pants and trousers. Finally, with both of them undressed, he presses against Mycroft, chest to chest as he hooked the younger man’s leg around his waist. He ran his hand from the crook of Mycroft’s knee to the curve of his arse and back like one would a scared horse. But Mycroft is far from scared, eyes focused on Peter’s other hand as he slicks himself up, first quickly and efficiently, then slower for his own pleasure. He’s a tease and right Mycroft is about to state such a fact, Peter lines himself up and begins to push in.

The feeling is enough to make his mind come to a crashing halt as Peter carefully slides into him. Eyes shut tightly at the sensation, Mycroft’s lips fall apart as easily as his legs had while Peter goes back to assaulting his neck. Pulling out just as slowly again, Mycroft thinks he can almost sense a pattern until the man slam back into him.

And while Mycroft wants to be upset and claim that he doesn’t like it a bit rough, he’s knows he’d be lying. The way Peter pounds into him is nothing short of excellent, he finds, wrapping his other leg around the man’s waist as he grips the arm rest. The man is nothing short of a force to be reckoned with, lithe body sliding back and forth smoothly, hitting that one spot over and over until Mycroft finds himself giving into to the wordless cries that want to slip free.

When Peter finally takes hold of his leaking erection, he knows he’s finished. The tell tale tightening in the pit of his stomach is his only real clue that it’s over for him. Mind only working long enough to remember where they are and kissing Peter to drown out his cries when it becomes too much to keep fighting off the inevitable orgasm; white heat covering Peter’s hand and his own stomach as the man continues to fuck him through it all.

Completely and utterly spent, Mycroft continues to kiss the man despite the dizzyingly breathless feeling in his mind until Peter’s movements become quick and jerky. When the man finally comes with a silent gasp, Mycroft breaks the kiss, letting his head fall back against the sofa cushion, utterly content with himself.

“Smiley obviously likes something about you.”

Nodding, because it’s all that Mycroft can manage, he cards his hand through Peter’s hair to let the man know he’s listening.

“You should follow through with him.”

“No number or address.”

“You can always come back here. I know where to find him.”

Nodding, Mycroft decided that such a simple plan might easily work. Looking into the sated blue eyes, he figured that it couldn’t hurt to, perhaps, do things that way, if only to figure out what it was Smiley was all about.

“This isn’t what he sent me here for, “ he said, feeling the odd need to express that thought.

It was likely the faulty workings of his mind slowly piecing back together, but Peter didn’t seem to mind. He merely kissed him briefly before moving to lie on the sofa next to Mycroft, letting one arm rest casually over his hip.

“No, I’m pretty sure it was. We just weren’t allowed to know it.”

Which shouldn’t have been nearly as fascinating as it seemed, but then, Mycroft had already learned that trusting in a dangerous situation was his own personal hobby. After all, he had trusted a mysterious stranger who had led him to Peter, someone who could very likely kill him and get rid of all evidence without a second thought. None of it was something a normal person would throw themselves into, but as Peter reached over him to take his cigarette pack and lighter, once again offering one to Mycroft, who declined, he decided that normal was rather dull. And, really, he had still felt the need to know what Smiley thought to be a better ambition in life was.


End file.
